


While You Were Sleeping

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Bedside Vigils, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Holding Hands, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 08:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20423075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: The realization slams into Wedge with all the force of a proton torpedo. HewantsTycho. Wants to touch him and hold him and a thousand other things two people who – who care about each other might do. While he wasn't allowing himself to become friends with his new squadmate, his feelings were sneaking around behind his back doing something else entirely.





	While You Were Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aphorisnt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphorisnt/gifts).

> For Betsy and her love of [this post](https://theboyofmilk.tumblr.com/post/187275120856/hexglyphs-hexglyphs-hexglyphs-character).

Wedge's hands are bunched in his lap as he sits beside Tycho's bed. He wants to touch, to caress and comfort, even though the other an is unconscious, but he knows he doesn't have the right.

Their relationship had been prickly from the start. After Yavin, Wedge was afraid to make new friends he might soon lose, and Tycho wore all his pain and anger over Alderaan right on the surface. They'd barely spoken in the months they'd flown together, and the few times they had usually turned into an argument.

That didn't mean Wedge didn't like him. Against his own wishes, he'd watched Tycho from the corner of his eye. (He had to at least know his new squadmate well enough to fly with him, after all.) Under that ever-present pain, he was sharp, smart, bright. On the rare occasion he smiled, it lit up the room. Part of Wedge yearned to know him better, and he squashed it down mercilessly.

Then came their most recent mission, one that had lead to a fracas ending with Tycho taking multiple blaster bolts that left him unconscious and bleeding as the rest of the squadron rushed him back to base, hoping desperately to get him there in time. They had, and for nearly two days now, he's been in and out of bacta. Though the medics say there's a good chance he'll make a full recovery, he hasn't regained consciousness yet, and his his squadmates taking turns sitting with him.

Wedge is grateful to be alone with him today, because he's starting to suspect something he doesn't want an audience for.

He watches Tycho's chest rise and fall between white sheets with even, deep breaths. Breaths the might have stopped for good. His hands are limp as his sides and so pale. His blonde hair spreads messily across the pillow, some of it covering his face.

Suddenly Wedge can't hold back any more. Something in him breaks sharply, but the way he reaches out is so gentle. His fingers almost tremble as he sweeps the offending strands from Tycho's forehead and tucks them behind his ear. Wedge holds his breath, waiting for him to stir, but he remains still, breathing cal.

Wedge's own heart races. Now that the spell is broken, he can't stop. His eyes light on Tycho's still hands, and before he can convince himself otherwise, he takes one between his own. Tycho's skin is so cold, and Wedge clasps him a little tighter, willing warmth and life back into him.

That's when Tycho stirs, and Wedge almost lets go, jumps back like he'll be in trouble, but not quite. Wedge holds his breath as Tycho's eyelids flicker but don't open, fingers flexing briefly in his grip before he goes still again.

Wedge lets out his breath, bowing his head over Tycho's hand clasped in his. What is he doing?

Tycho's skin is soft and real against his, but it feels wrong. He wants Tycho to be awake when he's touching him. And he wants Tycho to touch him back.

The realization slams into him with all the force of a proton torpedo. He _wants_ Tycho. Wants to touch him and hold him and a thousand other things two people who – who care about each other might do. While he wasn't allowing himself to become friends with his new squadmate, his feelings were sneaking around behind his back doing something else entirely.

Shaken by the realization, Wedge looks back up at Tycho's face. Still pale and uncomfortably still.

“You have to wake up,” Wedge finds himself saying, pitched soft and low. The words are followed by a sound even he can't identity: something between a surprised chuckle and a quiet sob. “You can't leave me to figure this out on my own. I'm no good at it.”

His fingers move across Tycho's skin, still trying to stroke warmth into him. Wedge thinks it might be working.

“I never wanted to care about you,” Wedge sighs, voice going even quieter. “I...didn't even want to be your friend. I'm tired of losing people I care about.” He blinks back sudden tears, throat going tight with them. “I don't want to care about you this much.”

He bites his lip and looks away, the sight of Tycho so still on the bed suddenly too much. He needs to get out of here before this gets any more out of control.

Wedge is grateful he manages to pry his hand away from Tycho's by the time Hobbie shows up to replace him less than half an hour later. He spends more time than he's comfortable admitting pacing the halls of the base that evening trying to figure out the mess of emotions in his head and what he's going to do about them. Part of him wants to be back in that room at Tycho's side _right now_. The rest wants to stay away from him for as long as he possibly can to avoid dealing with this.

By the time Wedge returns to the barracks and collapses into sleep, ignoring the curious looks of some of his squadmates, that's what he's decided on: ignoring. Even as he knows it's not the healthiest, it is the easiest. Maybe, if he's very lucky (and haven't people said he is?), this will all just go away.

It doesn't. Two days later, Tycho is released from medical, and of course there's a party, because Rebels will take any opportunity to celebrate. Wedge knows he can't exactly not go – after all, he _is_ happy Tycho has recovered. So he attends, spending a short amount of time skulking in a corner chatting with another pilot. At one point he accidentally catches Tycho's eye across the room and gives him a quick nod he hopes conveys something simple and honest like “I'm glad you're okay” and not all the other ridiculous lines his brain wants to supply.

When he thinks he's spent the bare amount of time that would be polite, Wedge leaves the party. He's halfway to the hangar, planning on distracting himself tinkering with his X-wing for awhile, when there's a voice from behind him.

“Hey, Wedge, wait up.”

It's Tycho. Wedge does not wince as he stops and turns, a smile pasted on his face.

Tycho is smiling, too – but for some reason he looks almost as discomfited as Wedge. “Trying to sneak away from my party?” he asks lightly.

Wedge keeps himself from averting his eyes. That would just look suspicious. “I wanted to check my fighter.”

Tycho crosses his arms and tilts his head, and Wedge shrinks like he's under a microscope. “We need to talk.”

Wedge is a solider, he reminds himself – he is not going to take a step back just because of words someone – _Tycho_ – said to him. “About what?”

Tycho frowns, and he actually looks a little hurt. Wedge can't imagine why. Why would he care so much about whether or not Wedge stayed at the party?

Tycho takes a step closer, and though he's not even within arm's reach, Wedge feels himself tingle all over with the proximity. “When I was in the medbay,” Tycho says, voice quieter than before. “You were sitting with me. You talked to me.”

_You heard that?_ Wedge wants to demand, mortified. He can feel his face going red. The words that come out of his mouth are, “No, I didn't.”

Tycho's frown deepens, and he shifts uncomfortably. “I didn't imagine it.” But he sounds unsure now.

“You were asleep the entire time I sat with you,” Wedge says, far calmer than he feels. “You wouldn't have heard anything even if I did say it.” Maybe he'll get out of this after all.

“I guess I was pretty out of it,” Tycho admits, arms tightening against his chest. “I must have dreamed it.” He forces a smile. “Never mind; I'll let you get back to what you were doing.”

He turns away, and once again Wedge's mouth moves without his permission. “Tycho?” Tycho looks over his shoulder, and even though every molecule of Wedge's being is cursing his terrible decision-making, he says, “What was the dream?”

Tycho faces him again but seems to falter. “It might make you uncomfortable.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles just below the surface, but Wedge fights it back. “Dreams can be funny.”

“Sure.” Tycho gives a quick half-smile, but his eyes are on the floor for his next words. “You were sitting there beside my bed, and you were holding my hand. You said you cared about me. More than you wanted to. And that you needed me to help you figure it out.”

Wedge's breath chokes in his throat at the expression on Tycho's face as he repeats the words. Is that...longing? Could Tycho possibly...?

“It wasn't a dream.”

Wedge barely has time to consider how much he wants to kick himself before Tycho's head is jerking up, intense blue eyes locking on Wedge's own. “It wasn't?”

Wedge is in it now. Either he's about to get what he's just realized he wants or have it thrown back in his face. There's no going back. “No.”

Tycho steps closer again, eyes riveted to Wedge like he can't look away. “You care about me?” He says the words like he can't quite believe them, and Wedge hates that he ever made him question whether they were real.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I didn't realize it myself until you were laying there. It surprised me how scared I suddenly was of losing you.”

Tycho smiles then, soft but genuine, a slight flush on his cheeks. “I thought it was just me.”

Wedge's brain short-circuits. He knows what those words mean, still somehow he can't quite parse them.

Tycho explains by closing the distance between them and reaching out, cupping Wedge's cheek in his hand as he kisses him, everything about the gesture gentle and warm.

Wedge lets out a wordless, surprised puff of air as he kisses back, his own hand coming up to tentatively rest on Tycho's arm. He feels like he's the one dreaming now dreaming, and he never wants to wake up.

The kiss ends, and Tycho is still smiling, still uncharacteristically, sweetly shy. “It would be hypocritical of me to tell you you didn't need to be afraid to tell me.”

“A little,” Wedge agrees. He feels giddy; he doesn't know what to say.

Tycho holds out his hand. “Come back to the party with me? Unless you really had your heart set on going over a ship the techs just cleared a few days ago? Then maybe we can talk after?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Wedge smiles and takes his hand, their fingers curling together like they were made to fit. Tycho squeezes gently and leads him back.


End file.
